The Old Dock Out South.
Sit with me.
Let our legs dangle over the old dock’s edge,
whose beaten boards, have housed the first kisses of passing lovers.
The old oaks sit still across the way, and the crickets begin
to sing the familiar songs of a southern summer.
My head sinks into that small crevice of your shoulder
where it fits so well.
and your hand gently runs up and down my skin,
for no other reason than to feel me in that moment.
And we talk about the future as we tend to do.
And you sit so patiently as my excitement grows,
and my words move off my tongue faster than I can I think,
and I get caught up in visions of a better world,
and hope.
and happiness.
and love. and love. and love
And I look over to see if you’re still with me, half expecting you to be gazing
across the deep emerald water, and watching the the burning amber reflection of a setting fireball.
But instead, my heart loses it’s balance and my breath forgets what to do,
and you’re staring at me smiling,
and i’m unsure you caught anything I said,
and your eyes make me forget what I said,
but i’m so sure that this is what love feels like.
I feel it as sure as wind that dances with stray hairs across my face.
And I breath in deep, trying to take a souvenir of this moment.
And I quit talking, and start listening.
To the water and your heart.
And the old dock creaks,
and I wonder if it’s ever felt a love like this before.
